


Vertebrae

by grizzly_bear_bane



Series: Cigar Box [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst and Romance, Established Relationship, M/M, Mentions of Past Underage Prostitution, Past Drug Use, Past Homelessness, Prostitution, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 05:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1215190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grizzly_bear_bane/pseuds/grizzly_bear_bane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames once ran the streets with some of the toughest thugs in Detroit.</p><p>Arthur was homeless, fourteen, and turning tricks near the docks and behind pubs when Eames took him in. He's taken care of Arthur ever since.</p><p>Now that Eames' two-year prison stay is over, it’s Arthur’s chance to take care of the man who saved his life so many years ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vertebrae

++

+

 

“Did you wait for me?”

It’s the first thing Eames says after a small eternity of silence and listening to the rain shower their taxi in the late evening traffic.

The worn leather groans when Arthur sinks lower in the cab’s seat. He peers out at the city, its dark, hazy sky and bright storefront lights and flashing ads all distorted by streaks of new droplets on the wet windows.

He could laugh at Eames’ question. Perhaps he had laughed when they were still in the airport. Except, Arthur had done so many things upon seeing Eames in the terminal – skipped, raced, hugged, and wiped his eyes dry on the front of Eames’ hoodie – that he wasn’t certain.

“You look good,” he’d muttered into Eames’ mouth, pressed between a hard chest, squeezed in arms sculpted from prison weights, and Eames’ bag still clutched in his rough hand.

Eames’ grin had been only a shade of its former charm, his laugh tired and rough. “Yeah, you too, kitty cat.”

People had been staring at them kiss. Arthur could have only imagined what they all saw. A massive man with a stone face chiseled from hard time behind bars, his clothes old and holey, his shoes dirty, and in his arms, a lean man in tailored tight bottoms and a silk top worth more than everything in their luggage.

Two years. Just two out of a near decade of Arthur and Eames growing, and loving, fighting, surviving together, but it's obvious that everything is different now. Being in prison has changed Eames. Being off the streets has changed Arthur.

Arthur had felt a little like a kid again when he'd stepped back, his fingers lacing with Eames’. “You must be tired. Let’s get you settled in, Mr. Eames.”

In the backseat of a cab or private car, with any other man, he would know what to do, he wouldn’t be so anxious, but this is the man who’d saved his life, this is his love. Arthur’s a quiet person. Always has been. After navigating through his teen years on a fifth-grade reading level, words just aren’t his strong suit. It's one thing men like about buying his time. Even when getting drilled into a mattress in some rich banker’s penthouse, he still hardly makes a sound. In Eames’ presence, though, always and only in Eames’ presence, does he chatter with nerves and excitement, eager to share anything that comes to mind.

“So you made a new Eames?”

“Mhm. Passport, social… The parole lady thinks I’ve gone back to London.”

“Does anyone know where you are?”

“Couple. Most of the boys got knocked off or ended up in a cell too, so…” He shrugs. “That’s it.”

“Good, good.” Arthur glances at the window, picking at a button on his coat. What the hell is he supposed to do or say to him now? He rambles. “I’ve been busy since I moved here.” He tries to sound nonchalant as Eames stares at him. “Work’s good in New York. Not as many creeps in these high-rises, surprisingly. They’re all relatively plain. One man actually wanted to pay for me to go to college, so I could talk to him about ‘smart things,’ but since I didn’t finish middle school, that’s out of the question.” He shrugs, nervously musing his hair. “Still a nice offer, though.”

“It is,” Eames says low, after a while. His eyes haven’t glanced out the windows to see the city he’s never stepped foot in before, but it’s clear he doesn’t care for buildings or flashing lights. Just Arthur. “Looks like you’ve done well for yourself. You always keep my blood pressure and stress sky high, pet, worrying about you all the time.”

Arthur shifts closer to Eames, taking his hand. “Yeah. I like it, having control. It’s just the friends of these men I get referred to, that I have to fly out of town for, that keep things more interesting than I’d like, but they pay much more.”

“You’re letting them hurt you?”

The gaze Eames levels at him makes Arthur swallow. “No. I put my foot down when I have to. No problem.”

“Are you still working on your reading?”

“If I didn’t, you’d kick my ass, so yes. I got through all the textbooks you sent me, so I bought more.”

Eames nods, giving him a little smile. “You still on medication?”

Arthur shakes his head. “Don’t need it anymore. My tests are all negative again, thank god. I get checked twice a month, even when I don’t have clients scheduled.” He smiles. “You should be proud of me, Mr. Eames. I do have a good head on my shoulders. I haven’t gotten into trouble once since I got here and my reputation’s got me up to four and five figure offers now. Twenty of me in a hundred lifetimes couldn’t have made that much off of one man when I was a kid. And they're not hostile to condoms, so… yeah. No more issues in that department. We’re set. The building’s in a good neighborhood. We’ve got a great view of the city from our floor. There’s a couple gyms in the area too. You’d be great as a trainer, if you ever get bored and want to do something. New York is filled with men who want their arms to be as big as their bank accounts. The delis and grocery store are around the corner. Central Park’s not too far from us either.”

Arthur falls silent. Eames has been staring at him this whole time, in Eames’ way, trying to listen to Arthur’s voice, but whatever’s going on inside Eames’ head is too loud.

Arthur watches Eames watching him, still grounded to this world by the windshield wipers scraping, the pitter-patter of rain, and the faint music from the driver’s radio.

The taxi’s stopped behind a bus as the rain picks up. The sky is almost dark now.

At last, Eames speaks. “Did you wait for me?”

Arthur wants to laugh at the absurdity of it, this promise, between a murderous thug and his little lover whore to share love with no one else. In two years, Arthur's fucked with enough wealthy men to keep him and Eames living comfortable for the next year. Eames knows that. It wasn’t what he was asking.

It’s laughable, still, that after so many years of blood and sweat and toiling, so often sleeping in alleyways under Eames for protection or in hallways when the snow got too thick in the parks in years long past, that he’d even think to ask Arthur such a silly question.

But Arthur doesn’t crack a smile. He knows that this is serious for Eames. It’s serious for him too.

“Yes. I’d wait forever for you.”

Eames nods, at last relaxing.

+

 

The condo’s got a Parisian style and is as lovely as Arthur had said. A gift from a regular client in Milan. The kind of expensive place Arthur's always wanted.

He gets him and Eames naked and washes the man in the giant shower.

His heart stops for a second when Eames grabs his arm in a too strong grip, pulling him back into shower the second Arthur had turned to step out. Eames’ kiss, his hold, is all power, nothing careful like his embraces used to be, but Arthur understands. It’ll take time for Eames to shift gears from where he was to where he is now.

And it’s _good_ to have Eames' tongue in his mouth, Eames' soft cock hanging long and thick against his. It’s good to feel those rough hands slide down his back, familiarizing their palms to the curve of his ass.

Arthur’s sure his body’s the same as it was the last time Eames had touched him, but two years has made Eames’ body big and tough like a brick building. He’s got new scars and tattoos as well. Arthur can’t wait to hear their stories.

Eames sits pliant on the edge of the sink for Arthur to trim his beard with a straight razor, just the way he's always done. Arthur even has clothes ready for him on the bed when he’s finished.

Arthur's eyes drift up to watch Eames slip into the baggy sweatpants and the too-tight undershirt. Eames soaks in the sight of Arthur stepping into little black underwear and a loose sweater, his gaze focused on those long legs. Eames wants to worship those legs, no doubt, so Arthur leaves them bare.  

It’s clear that they have no idea what to do around each other anymore. The easy glide with which they once moved together, came together, is there in their minds still, but getting to that point is a mystery now.

Eames wants every part of himself that he can put in Arthur’s body in him right now, and Arthur wants it too, wants to open himself again to the only man who’s ever made love to him. Eames is _here_ , standing in front of him. They are both safe, clothed, with food in the kitchen, in this home Arthur’s made. Even the bed is right here behind him. He can feel the soft comforter touching the back of his legs.

He steps forward and squeezes Eames’ hand. “Let me cook for you,” he says, and suddenly they both can breathe again.

+

 

Eames sits Arthur on the counter. They eat from the plate in Arthur’s lap.

Eames hums as he wolfs down the larger portion. “I stood here, and I watched you cook this…”

“But you’re still looking for the takeout boxes. I know, I know.”

“This is fantastic,” Eames says with his mouth full.

He smiles, glowing under Eames' praise. “You sound surprised.”

“I am! I know I should have more faith in you, but I've seen you burn scrambled eggs on low heat, kitty cat. But fuck me, it’s good.”

Arthur tries to sneak a forkful of the steak to his side of the plate, but Eames pokes his hand with his fork and eats it.

“Sorry, baby,” Eames teases. “They fed us dust bunnies and leaves in that zoo. This is the best meal I’ve ever had.”

Arthur laughs, his ears red. “Have the leftovers too, if you want.” He laughs again when Eames bounces on his feet in excitement. Arthur can't help but stare at the man. “I almost can’t believe we’re here,” he says after a pause. It’s been on his mind this whole time. He hooks his ankles behind Eames, as if he'll suddenly disappear.

Eames’ grin at last reaches his eyes when he nods. “Feels pretty domestic, doesn’t it? I like it.” He takes the plate and sets it on the counter, standing flush to Arthur’s legs now. 

Maybe it’s the whiskey they’ve shared or just… the last of the ice thawing between them, but something's clicked into place now. “Yeah.” Arthur smiles as his hands find their way under Eames’ shirt to hold his waist. “We made it. After all this fucking time.”

“How do we hold onto it, though?”

Arthur glances up at him, then back to his chest. “Easy.”

Eames’ groan comes out as a growl that makes Arthur shiver. “Arthur.”

“It’s alright. It’s different here. I know what I’m doing now. It’s safe, especially since you’ll be here, a few blocks or a taxi ride away from where I'm working.”

"We've had that arrangement before. Remember?"

"It's different."

Eames sighs like a bull. “How many?”

“Only twelve, all long-term, so no strangers. Most of them live either here or in DC, so I won’t ever be far, and the two overseas and the one out of state only call me every few months. I'm not turning tricks in some drunk coal miner's station wagon, Eames. One night in a senator's hotel gets us ten grand and a week in Milan will bring us forty, Eames. We won’t get this kind of money any way else, not with our histories.” Arthur feels hot, drugged with Eames’ hands on his silk-covered hipbones. The man's grip is as unchecked and tight as before in the shower. His own hands still hold Eames’ waist. In the back of his mind, he knows that this hard body will crush him, grind him into dust. He’s okay with that. He needs that. The sooner the better.

He thinks the conversation is over, relieved because he doesn't want to talk about money anymore. He leans forward to suck on Eames’ bottom lip, but Eames catches his throat in a snug hold, keeping him still. Arthur’s overstepped some unknown boundary. He swallows under Eames’ thumb. He understands. He backs down and lets Eames lead at his own pace.

“That training gig you mentioned? What about that?”

“If I stop seeing my clients, we won't be able to afford this place.”

He sighs again and nods, unhappy. “Mhm.” 

“Eames, I really, really like it here. I’m okay. I can, and will, carry us.” He breathes deeply when Eames’ hand moves to stroke his jaw and under his ear. Arthur relaxes under his petting.

And then, it hits Arthur. Eames doesn’t just see other hands on his boy, he sees money and security that he isn’t responsible for.

Carefully, he kisses Eames’ frown. “Hey.” When Eames meets his eyes, he whispers, “Let me make you proud of me, okay?”

“I don’t like it,” Eames says.

Arthur keeps his smile hidden. There’s a familiar, possessive edge to Eames’ tone, his touch. He slides closer, hugging Eames’ waist now. “Those men don’t own me. You know that. They pay thousands to have what I give to you freely, baby. I belong to you.” He keeps kissing Eames’ face, his lips at Eames’ ear when he whispers. “I’ve always been yours.”

Eames laughs quietly, more at ease hearing those words. “You still are.”

Arthur shivers again, a little breathless. This is real, this is happening. He’s been waiting for this day for so long. “Then what are you waiting for, Mr. Eames?”

+

 

Eames dries the dishes as Arthur washes them, before he takes Arthur to bed.

Things start to move quickly after that. Eames’ sweatpants and shirt hit the floor in a split second. Arthur’s sweater’s soon to follow.

He hits the bed with Eames not far behind. That piercing stare from the taxi and those heavy hands from the shower are back. They instantly leave Arthur gasping for air as Eames devours his mouth. Arthur knows that he has no control over what Eames does now, but his trust is unwavering. This is what he needs, to let go and be led by his man.

His little silk briefs come apart easily in Eames’ hands. Rough palms sweep over his hipbones and inner thighs, fingers massaging through the soft, meticulously trimmed bed of curls. Arthur moves from underneath him only to reach for a bottle of lube on the bedside table. There are no condoms, not with Arthur’s persistent and thorough testing and the fact that there is no one else but Arthur in Eames’ entire world.

Arthur sucks on Eames’ fingers as Eames kisses the smooth calf draped over his shoulder. Arthur rolls his hips, parting his legs wider for Eames to see his little pink hole.

“Look at you, darling,” Eames almost purrs. “Pretty as ever.”

“For now.” He puts on even more of a show for Eames then, his spine arching, eyes dark and devilish.

Eames pauses, serious when he mets Arthur's stare. “Careful what you wish for, love. I will ruin this little cunt in a heartbeat.”

Arthur groans into a pillow, weak to Eames’ teasing. He drags Eames’ wet fingers over his hard nipples because Eames loves them, down his stomach, past his navel. Eames’ eyes rake over him, praising even with his gaze as his hands move.

He slicks Eames’ fingers for him, moaning quietly, his brow creased when Eames slides that first finger in and twists it. He keens a little louder on the second. “Oh god, Eames.”

Eames dips down to bite Arthur’s neck, making Arthur mewl. His fingers cross inside Arthur once he’s pressed straight into that spot, his index rigid as he curls his middle finger, almost as if to roll the sensitive gland between them. It makes Arthur’s nerves go haywire. He shouts and tries to move away from that overwhelming touch, but Eames wraps his arm around his waist, holding him down.

“Fuck, Eames!” He tries to struggle free. “You’ll make me come.”

“Then come,” he teases, the muscles in his arm flexing as he stretches him open roughly. Those two thick fingers would be enough, if Eames was any other man, but he’s not done yet. He moans with Arthur, drilling in a third, that middle finger still tormenting his prostate. It’s obscene; the slickness dripping out, the sound of his fingers sliding, and Arthur’s desperate pleading.

“No, I can’t,” he moans.

“Of course you can.”

“No, Eames, you know I can’t. Not yet.”

“That’s too bad, pet. I want to see my boy cry on this cock when I fuck you proper.”

There’s nothing Arthur can do but hold on and let the orgasm roll through him, gasping for air, his body gripping Eames’ fingers.

It’s like nothing he’s ever felt. No one on earth can make him come undone like Eames, but after all this time apart, this man is greedy, demanding, overpowering, merciless, a sadist, and Arthur loves him all the more for it.

He groans when Eames withdraws his fingers. His hips roll lazily, a content little smile on his bitten lips. His hole quivers at the sight of Eames slicking his cock. He tosses his arm above his head and fingers himself for Eames to see, knowing that it makes Eames positively ravenous.

Eames hooks his hands under Arthur’s knees, spreading him for them both to watch his cock push against Arthur’s soft hole until he sinks in, firmly sheathing himself more and more in this tight, wet heat.

“God damn you, Arthur.” Eames groans, his head fallen back as Arthur contracts around him, begging him to push deeper. “I’ve dreamed of this cunt for two fucking years.”

“It’s yours.” Arthur wreaths, hands trailing down his body, trembling when they hold his legs high and wide for his Eames to move between them.

Eames growls at that, fucking roughly. “ _All_ mine.”

Arthur pulls at the sheets, choking for air. It hurts. Those first few minutes always hurt with Eames, and even more so since he’s tighter after that orgasm. Each hard thrust pushes a whimper out of his throat and tears from his eyes.

“Come on, love. Let your Eamesie take you apart.” Eames keeps Arthur’s legs open, bruising them in his grip as he crushes Arthur underneath him. “Open this pretty little mouth for me. Come on.”

Arthur takes it, his fingers digging in Eames’ sides, knowing that when his body catches up to his brain, Eames’ sex will be heaven.

His keening grows louder and louder as more of Eames’ cock works its way deeper, demanding Arthur’s body to let him in. His back arches, his legs try to squeeze shut, but Eames keeps Arthur open to him, until finally, Arthur moans and gyrates his hips, feeling Eames’ curls press against his smooth perineum.

“That’s it, pet.” Eames growls, now digging bruises into the front Arthur’s thighs. “You want this.”

“I need it.”

“Exactly. No one else can stuff this cunt as full as I can.” He laughs, breath short when Arthur touches his stretched hole and Eames’ cock when he slides out and fucks in hard. "God, I missed you, Arthur." 

Arthur’s sobbing now. His legs want to close around Eames and keep him planted forever. He gets a hand in Eames’ hair to pull him into a hungry kiss.

Unwilling to part from those lips, Eames lifts Arthur into his lap, his arms locking him close to his chest. They moan into each other’s mouths, sharing air, their hips grinding together as Eames claims every inch of Arthur.

“Eames, I’m close.” His fingers are in Eames’ back again, trying to hold on.

He kneads Arthur’s ass, listening to him moan. He lies him down and angles for the spot he's tortured, unrelenting. Arthur knows his nerves will be on fire well into the morning. It hurts again, the sensations too much for him, but still he comes hard, voice raised to the ceiling as he shudders violently through it.

Eames never stops fucking him. He’s growling, wild and frantic, eager to have his come deep inside of his boy. He knows that those other men, that _most_ men in this world, would die for the chance to breed and stake claim over someone like Arthur, but no one else can have this. Just Eames.

And Arthur’s begging for it. “Eames, please, give it to me.”

“You’re not asking nicely for it.”

He does ask, by squeezing Eames’ cock until he’s on the verge of milking him. Eames comes as if he hasn’t touched his cock since the last time they fucked. Arthur moans and keens, feeling Eames’ thick, heavy release spreading inside him, slipping free as Eames’ softening cock slides through this added slickness.

It’ll ruin the sheets. Arthur hardly cares. He’s a mess now, but he’s Eames’ mess, so he stays where he’s lies, basking in the afterglow, content with Eames’ shower of worshipful kisses.

+

 

Eames leaves the bed to rifle through his bag. “I brought you something.” He scratches his neck, the cigar box looking small in his big hand. “Yusuf found it in the old flat,” he explains. “Not sure if you want it back. I haven’t looked in it, but…” From his deep frown, he must have regretted bringing it up.

Arthur doesn’t bother with the sheets when he sits up, but he _is_ wishing he’d brought the bottle of whiskey with him from the kitchen after supper. He knows what that box is. His heart feels shredded to ribbons and he hasn’t even touched it yet.

“I can get rid of it.”

“No.” Arthur slips into Eames’ discarded shirt, forever swimming in Eames’ clothes no matter how old is he gets. He pats the space beside him. “I’d always meant to share it with you, but I guess…we never got around to it. Let’s see what’s inside.”

Eames is still thinking of tossing it out when he speaks. “You don’t remember, pet?”

Arthur shakes his head, eyeing the old box in his lap. He laughs bitterly. “I was on drugs, remember? I could have put anything in here.”

Eames settles closer, his hand slipping under Arthur’s shirt to pet his back, his presence silently encouraging.

Arthur opens the lid, immediately covering his mouth when a few hazy memories come back.

Eames tilts his head. Inside, there looks to be photos buried under years of trinkets, candy wrappers, bubblegum machine rings and a crumpled bill. “What’s that little kid sock doing in here?”

Arthur picks it up, his face unreadable. It barely covers his hand. “It was mine. When I was eleven, I _loved_ Jurassic Park, so my aunt got me a set of these, one time she visited. I had them on when I ran away. I used to hide money in the other one, or tried to. It obviously didn’t stay in my possession long, as you can see that it’s not here.” He balls it up and sits it aside. “Oh, this is the twenty I stole from you when you were asleep.”

Eames’ brow raises and he grins at first. “What, that first time we…” he doesn’t finish, remembering what he’d done.

“I hated you back then, but we all had to pay our dues to stay in that flat somehow, right,” Arthur mutters, looking at the crumpled bill. He’s not angry at all now, but Eames’ silence makes it hard to speak at first, but he laughs. “That was the first time I'd ever orgasmed, though. So, thank you for that.”

“Arthur, you were a kid. I fucking took advantage of you.”

“You beat the shit of those guys and saved my life. I would have frozen that night if not for you.”

“ _And_ then I took advantage of you.”

“You didn’t take anything from me I wasn’t going to give you, eventually.” He sighs. “Just that one time.”

“Isn’t that one too many, considering?”

He takes his hand, still smiling, but it’s a small one. “You paid me back for it, remember?”

Eames winces and laughs with Arthur. “With my blood, yes. Touché.” He kisses his cheek. “We’ve always made a good pair, haven’t we?”

He kisses him back and stays close to lean on his arm.

“Oh, why did I keep this?” He picks up a second, bigger sock with the tip if his fingers, trying not to touch it. There’s old stained blood on the sole.

“Where did that come from?”

“When Cobb turned on you.” It’s all he has to say. He knows that Eames fully understands. “God, why did I keep this? One of those creeps' STIs is probably still on it.” He drops it into the trash bin under the bedside table.

"Hey." Eames slides his arms around him under his shirt. “You okay, kitty cat?”

Hearing that never fails to make him smile, because Eames sounds funny when he says it. “Yeah. This is yours too.” He shows him the lighter.

Eames snorts, looking in the box. “How much shit did you steal from me, pet?”

“Everything.” When he flips the wheel, the lighter still works. He pouts, teasing, when Eames takes it back.

“Mn. Now I’m itching for a smoke,” Eames mutters, and plucks Arthur’s ear when a pack of cigarettes is tossed his way. “Fucking hell, Arthur,” he laughs. “We were broke and you let a perfectly good and expensive pack go stale in this box. _And_ my old straight razor’s in here. Unbelievable. Weirdo.”

His and Arthur’s laughing ends abruptly. There’s a little bag of coke under a postcard Eames stole for Arthur for his fifteenth birthday.

It’s been hidden in this box for years, but seeing it is like finding money on a sidewalk. Arthur isn’t a kid anymore. He’s graceful now, his voice strong, eyes sharp and always focused, but one thing that clearly hasn’t changed is his ability to make drugs disappear and reappear in his system without anyone seeing him do it.

Eames knows this too. Arthur doesn’t even realize that he’s picked up the bag until Eames’ hand covers his fist.

“Arthur,” Eames’ voice is low and rough, “if you want to put that in your nose, I will pack up my stuff and leave and you will never see me again. Okay?”

That’s a sobering enough threat to let Eames take the bag from him. Arthur watches him get up to flush it in the bathroom, in disbelief over how easily he’d slipped off the deep end. When he returns, Arthur grabs the wooden box and sits nearly in Eames’ lap, grounded in Eames’ space. “Thank you.”

Eames kisses the back of his neck, rubbing Arthur’s arms. “What are the pictures of?”

He rifles through them, not recognizing himself or knowing the stories behind half of them. It makes him sad.

Eames’ eyes go wide for one photo in particular. He plucks it from Arthur’s hand. “When we rode with Nash to the fucking beach, remember?”

“Really?”

“Yeah! Look at you! God, Arthur. To see you now, it’s hard to believe you were ever _this_ tiny. You were like a baby giraffe. Just a neck and knobby knees.”

In the photo Nash snapped for them, Eames has his arms around Arthur as they stand on the boardwalk. Eames is a lean muscled and mature twenty-two, but Arthur, in his cutoff shorts and _The Clash_ tank hanging off a shoulder, he looks the same at sixteen as he did at twelve, only he’s rail thin and completely empty in his eyes, thanks to Nash’s drugs.

Arthur shakes his head. “I was really gone back then. All I remember was that we took this picture, that’s it." He’s pretty sure Nash had bribed him into fucking someone for the gas and food money they’d needed for the trip, but he doesn’t say this out loud. Eames already hates Nash for everything he does know. One more shovel of dirt over his grave would be pointless. “Look at this one.” Eames is holding Arthur in his lap as the boy rolls him a joint in the flat they’d only managed to squat in for a week.

Arthur wipes his eyes dry and sighs, photos in his hands as he waves at the box’s contents now scattered across the bed. “I don’t know what do with this stuff.”

“Think you want to keep it? You should.”

Arthur shakes his head. “Shouldn’t we start fresh?”

Eames shrugs, stroking Arthur’s stomach and chest under his shirt. “No sin in having a past, and this is all that’s left of it, for both of us.”

He piles everything back in it and hands it to Eames.

“No?”

“Yeah, you can get rid of it.”

“You’ll regret this come morning,” he warns. He sighs when Arthur says nothing and carries the box out.

When he comes back, Eames fucks Arthur again, soft as a whisper this time.

Unable to sleep after, Arthur eases out of bed in the dark and slips into the kitchen.

He can see by the glow of city lights that Eames put the box on the counter instead of throwing it away. After all this time, the man still knows Arthur better than Arthur does.

 

In the morning when Eames wakes and finds Arthur cooking him a big breakfast, the cigar box is placed high on one of the bookshelves. Eames kisses Arthur’s cheek, but doesn’t comment on it.

He doesn’t have to.

++

+

 

**End.**

**Author's Note:**

> For more drabble requests, questions, inspiration pics, and updates for this fic series, go to grizzly-bear-bane.tumblr.com/


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